


It’s Always Summer in the Songs

by Oshun



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“. . . they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming.” -- <i>A Clash of Kings: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two,</i></p><p>Loras falls in love with Renly, from Loras's point of view. The story that isn't told in the books. (ETA: Of course, the story as written here has become AU due to adjustments to the book verse by the TV series, Margaery much older and more politically savy. I hope it still works as a book-based extrapolation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Always Summer in the Songs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maryling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryling/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [永夏之梦](https://archiveofourown.org/works/397459) by [kagenoshita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagenoshita/pseuds/kagenoshita)



> I want to thank Ignoble Bard and Lilith-less-fair for reading and offering corrections and suggestions; I also want to extend my thanks to the Lizard Council writers' group, Russandol in particular, for nitpicking the copy and encouraging me.

**Part I**

> “Renly was handsome as Robert had been handsome; long of limb and broad of shoulder, with the same coal-black hair, fine and straight, the same deep blue eyes, the same easy smile.” -- _A Clash of Kings: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two_

The first time Loras Tyrell, only twelve years of age, saw Renly Baratheon, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He had not expected to fall in love with the young knight and Lord of Storm’s End. To serve as Ser Renly’s squire and learn from him was all that he had dared to wish.

Loras had arrived at the fortress in a driving rain. It had been one of those false autumns that occasionally threaten and disappear quickly in the waning years of a long summer. He first spotted the black outline of the Storm’s End castle atop the windswept chalky cliffs, barely visible in the fog against an inhospitable grey sky. Dismounting inside of the castle gates along with his three retainers, Loras felt as though he were half frozen and half pickled in salt from the wet bite of the wind gusting upward from the sea. The intimidating castle had a long history, unlike in every way from the one featuring sunshine and flowers that the poets liked to give to Loras’s home at Highgarden.

Once within its sheltering walls, Storm’s End conveyed an impression that was anything but dark. The fortress vibrated with youth and energy. Loras still imagined that he could feel the legendary defensive magic supposedly woven into its ancient stone walls. But the aroma of roasting meat and fowl, the warmth from fireplaces in every room, the bustle of preparations for the evening meal, and the sounds of musicians tuning their instruments, all came to together to create an ambiance of abundance and high spirits.

“Loras Tyrell of Highgarden, I presume?” queried a retainer with a homely baby face, who didn’t look a day older than Loras himself. He bobbed his head at Loras in a barely tolerable minimum of obeisance.

“Yes. I am he.” Loras nodded with cautious deference to the page, reminding himself at the sight of the boy’s rich maroon velvet tunic, that he could be anyone, even a peer of the realm. “I had hoped to present a letter from my father to Ser Renly Baratheon. If the Lord of Storm’s End is unavailable, I would beg for shelter, a hearth, and refreshment for my companions. Three of my men are in the stables now caring for our mounts. They have had a long ride and are wet and cold to the bone.”

“As you must be as well, _my lord_.” There was an ironic emphasis on the ‘my lord’ from the freckle-faced courtier that Loras could not interpret. “Ser Renly awaited your arrival earlier today. But then, no more than two hours ago, he received a raven with a message reporting a largish shipwreck down the coast. He left immediately and probably won’t be back tonight. He asked me to greet you for him. A room has been prepared for your men and another one for you. You’d best enjoy your privacy while you can, because no doubt you will be moving into the small room adjoining Lord Renly’s own bedchamber sooner rather than later. That would be customary for his squire.”

All but twitching with nerves and with questions that he intended to save for Ser Renly, Loras tried to order his features into some simulation of bored composure, but he couldn’t do it quickly enough.

The boy grinned and said, with a tone of reassurance that Loras found insufferably condescending, “Don’t worry about Ser Renly. I know you’ll like him. Everyone finds him agreeable. Let me show you to your room now. We’ve been keeping water heated for you there. You’ve just enough time to bathe and have a warm drink before you’ll need to dress for dinner. I’ll send someone to attend to your men and fetch your luggage.”

Loras could no longer hold back from asking the identity of the lad; he did not care if the presumptuous boy was the heir to the Iron Throne itself.

“I’m sorry if I sound rude, but who are you anyway?”

“I thought you’d recognize me!” he piped, incorrigible in his cheeriness. “I’m Matt Rowan, son of your father’s own bannerman Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove. I’ve served as Ser Renly’s squire for nearly two years now. You and I played together around the edges of tournaments and festivals in Highgarden when we were both little. I’m a year and a half or so older than you if I recall correctly. Don’t feel bad though. I might not have recognized you if I hadn’t known you were coming.”

“You’re pug-nosed Matt! I should have known you—the freckles and ginger hair. Would have, but no one told me you were here. You’re going to be knighted already?” That did not seem likely from the looks of the boy. He was a bit young under any circumstances, and he didn’t have a smidgen of the stance or demeanor.

“Never! To my parents’ great dismay, it doesn’t suit me at all. They are not sure what to do with me now. Ser Renly and I are parting friends. I’ve heard that you are very keen on knightly skills. Knocking people down and waving sharp objects at them. You always were aggressive. Renly will love your interest in those things. He is not very warlike himself—he’d rather read than fight—but he wants a squire who is. And Renly gets what Renly wants around here!”

Matt offered gossip about Storm’s End, who did what and how things worked, while he fished for news of the Reach from Loras. It occurred to Loras that if Renly Baratheon was so well loved by a lad who was unable to serve him to his satisfaction, then he must be a fair and liberal lord indeed.

That the King’s younger brother had the reputation of being a literate, intelligent man Loras had heard long before Matt confirmed it. He also had been told that Renly was well-liked in general. Loras had not the audacity before fate and the Seven to wish for a hero as his lord. He had hoped that he would find the young peer knightly and kind: not so kind that he wouldn’t correct him or fail to lead by example, but not so stern that Loras would freeze up and become clumsy. The boy knew his own main advantage was his grace, that and his determination. But either or both of those could be undermined by a lord with a hard heart and no humor.

Loras already suspected that he would never grow up to be a large man. He might eventually be taller than average, but it was not likely he would fill out to the degree that even his brothers had. He took after his mother’s side of the family as did his sister Margaery. Loras was already strong, but in a long and lean way. Flexibility and agility were his principle assets, with little of the obvious upper body strength generally admired in a lad training to be a knight. At Highgarden, Loras had good teachers and had trusted them. They convinced him he must learn to use his head as well as his musculature to overcome an opponent, that the value of quick wits could not be underestimated. He hoped that Renly Baratheon would not take one look at him and underrate his potential.

There were no Lannisters at the table in Renly’s absence that night, but other nobles were present, bannermen of House Baratheon and guests from King’s Landing. Loras had been seated at the head table and treated with the respect due House Tyrell. He knew that his standing while squiring for Renly would be ostensibly less in public settings, but he would not officially assume that role for a couple of days or more. The fact was that, as the son of a lord of one the great houses, he would always have more standing than a lower born boy in the same position.

Tired from his journey, Loras went to bed early that night. Although he thought he heard a noisy party enter the keep around midnight or so, he couldn’t rouse himself to try to discover if Ser Renly had returned.

* * * * 

In the morning, he received a message from the master-at-arms, offering to give him a tour of the armory and practice areas. Loras liked the greying, fit knight at first meeting. He watched a young knight sparring with Matt in a demonstration for his benefit. The knight routed Matt with little effort. Loras felt smug at how much more talented with a sword he was than the red-haired boy until he reminded himself that a failed squire was no basis for comparison. The sword master himself then put Loras through his paces. With ungrudging generosity, he admired Loras’s presentation and carriage and then proceeded to expose his every weakness. They ended with Loras breathless and looking forward to future lessons. Loras had just rinsed himself off and changed into a clean tunic when Matt knocked on the door of the guest room.

Matt took Loras to Renly’s private sitting room adjoining the Lord’s bedchamber. Loras peeked around the corner into another large surprisingly well-lit room. There was a single clear glass window to rival any at Highgarden in both the bedroom and the sitting room, each with heavy metal shutters which could be closed over them. He could also see a door opening on the other side of the bedchamber into another room, the size of a dressing room, outfitted with a narrow bed and small chest, which must be the one Matt had told him would be his for the next few years. Just then someone entered behind him, coughed and cleared their throat, obviously to get his attention. It worked. Loras literally jumped in place.

“Ah, here you both are now,” the smiling handsome young man said. It would have been completely obvious to Loras that this had to be Ser Renly, even without the gold-colored tunic embroidered in gleaming black silk thread with a repeat pattern of the crowned stag of House Baratheon. He had the dark hair, clear high forehead and bright blue eyes that Loras had seen in paintings of his brother King Robert.

“Thank you, Matt. You can go. So you’re the youngest son of the Lord of Highgarden?” the young man asked. “You are slighter than your brothers, but I have heard you have greater natural talent. One less thing I will have to worry about. My master-at-arms tells me that you’ll be far easier to instruct than I was at your age.” He graced Loras with a relaxed, crooked smile, while looking him up and down, finally crossing his arms over his chest, pursing his lips in an affectation of perplexity.

Loras might have interpreted Renly’s casual self-confidence as arrogance, without the twinkle in his eye that he didn’t even try to hide. Fascinated, Loras watched Renly for further clues to his character. All he received for consideration was a broadening of the already disarming smile.

“So? What do you think of Storm’s End so far?” Renly asked, startling Loras out of his reflection.

“My lord?” he stammered, his tongue as dry as sawdust. Finally finding his voice, Loras’s words tumbled out helter-skelter. “Oh, Storm’s End. Riding along the coast, waiting to get a glimpse of the fortress, one expects to find it intimidating. But somehow it’s actually not. Well, it is formidable from the approach road. But completely different when one enters into the keep . . . inside it’s welcoming.“

“That is as it should be. Inside we are all friends. At least I would hope so.” Renly laughed softly. “Unlike the Red Keep where one is never sure. You’re smaller than I expected, Loras Tyrell.”

Loras felt himself calming despite Renly’s continued scrutiny. “Nothing I can do about that, my lord. Trust me, I have tried.” He shot him one of his own smiles that he knew had softened harder hearts than Renly Baratheon appeared to have. “But I am already very good with a sword. I’ve been training hard since I was big enough to hold a stick.”

“I watched you practice earlier. You are more than good! And modest also, it seems.” Renly’s eyes crinkled in amusement. He did have a sense of humor, as well as flawless cheekbones, and remarkably even white teeth. Loras could not resist grinning back at him.

Why had no one mentioned how beautiful Renly Baratheon was? His father should have warned him. Was this some kind of a test? Not likely, he thought. Mace Tyrell had never been anything but an affectionate, indulgent father, even earlier that year when Loras, in faltering desperation, had confessed his unnatural attraction to boys. After offering his son a cup of wine to soothe his nerves, Lord Tyrell had gently lectured him on the absolute necessity for discretion and the dangers inherent in his following the call of his nature. But he took care to explain that, although one might be led to believe it was far less common, for every ten men who fancied women, one or two might prefer their own sex. His father also had insisted that he loved his favorite son no less in light of his predilection, but neither did he intend to cut him any slack because of it.

Loras dipped his head in a well-schooled bow. He fought to raise his head to once more encounter Renly’s clear blue eyes. ‘ _No one will trust a man who is afraid to look them in the eye_ ,’ his father told him when he bade him farewell. ‘ _You are the equal of any noble in the Seven Kingdoms, Loras. Your youth does not undo that fact. Comport yourself with the respect due your elders, but never cower or fawn_.’ Loras took a deep breath and swallowed, meeting Renly’s gaze.

As though innocent of the effect he was having upon the boy, Renly shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I’m skilled enough at swordplay and jousting. But I never had the passion to excel. I do my duty at tournaments and sometimes I get lucky, but do not enjoy the arts of war. I practice them and pray I never have to use them in serious. Perhaps you will grow up to be my champion?”

Such a choice of words! Loras could not control a fierce attack of blushing. He bowed his head again and said, “My only desire is to serve you, my lord. In any way you wish.” He exhaled loudly; the sound horrifyingly resembled a sob. Whatever had convinced him that he could hide who he was? He fell to one knee before the Lord Renly, as though half expecting a blow.

“Get up, Loras Tyrell. Look at me.” Renly’s voice barely reached above a whisper, but the warmth in it had turned to cold steel. Loras struggled to his feet. He stood nearly eye-to-eye with Renly, determined he would not lose eye contact this time. A treacherous tear rolled down one cheek and he sniffed without volition.

‘ _Courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it_ ,’ Loras told himself, jerking his chin up. ‘ _My body may betray me, but I can and will control my spirit_.’

“I don’t know what people have told you about me,” Renly said, his jaw hardening. “If anyone has said that I would ever harm you in any way that is a filthy lie. I would never touch you in lust. I will defend your innocence with my life. My duty to you as your master is to supervise your instruction, and encourage and protect you. As my squire you will be always safe with me. I will consider any affront to you to be an insult to me. Of course, I’ve noticed how pretty you are. Anyone would. One would have to be blind not to. Give me a month and, if you are still uncomfortable in my presence, you may leave then with no hard feelings. I have the means to find a worthy knight to sponsor you.”

Loras Tyrell might have been protected and catered to as the youngest son of a large extended family, but he was not stupid. His sudden understanding of the situation forced him to lose control of a surprised laugh. “You like boys, as well?” He exclaimed, clapping his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, my lord! I didn’t mean to ask like that!”

Renly chuckled and shook his head, obviously relieved as well. “Actually, I am not interested in little boys, but men. And that is but one of several secrets I will expect you to guard in my service. We live in a treacherous place in dangerous times.”

‘ _Not little boys_ ,’ made Loras want to snort, but he managed to repress it. Renly was all of three perhaps nearly four years older than him. Loras smiled with newly restored boldness up into Renly’s brilliant blue eyes, blessedly alight with mirth at last.

“Yes, my lord. I promise to guard your confidences with all of my resolve. And I will never trouble you or call attention to myself as a result of my own perversions. I vow to be the best squire any lord ever had.” He thought to himself that he need not abandon hope, but hold it close to his chest. Time was on his side. Boys inevitably grow up and he--with his celebrated pretty face, well-proportioned body, and a courtly manner which could not be faulted when he chose to exercise it--would be in intimate company with Renly Baratheon every single day for at least the next three years.

* * * * 

**Part II**  


> “And Renly, that one, he’s copper, bright and shiny, pretty to look at but not worth all that much at the end of the day.” -- _A Clash of Kings: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two_

They tended to massively underestimate Renly’s military skills in King’s Landing. The thought caused Loras’s chest to tighten in anger to the point of physical pain. He cheered louder than any when Renly unhorsed Ser Balon Swann. No longer Renly’s squire, Loras still found it hard to relinquish certain of his duties to the sturdy young lad who had replaced him. He ducked under the railing at the side of the stands and dropped to the ground in order to follow Renly back to his tent. Loras had unseated the young Ser Robin Florant earlier. He would not ride again until the following day. Delighted as he was to see Renly advance to the next course, he hoped with all his heart that he would not draw him as his opponent for the morrow.

“I’ll take it from here, Clifford,” Loras said, ducking through the half open entrance into Renly’s shelter, as familiar to him as his own bedchamber. “Go on and watch the jousting.”

The boy scurried out, as Loras had known he would. He scarcely paused to nod in Renly’s direction and mumble, “By your leave, my lord.” Renly deserved a better squire than the lazy little rascal. But whenever Loras tried to raise the issue, Renly would only laugh dismissively and say, ‘I would never expect to find another squire of your skill and devotion.’

“That was brilliant, Renly!” Loras shouted, before releasing a long sigh at the necessity for guardedness in the environs of the Red Keep and looking around to see if anyone was listening. He untied the tent flap and let it fall, shutting out the sun’s light and most of the tumult of the crowd. He boldly walked over to stop nose to nose with Renly. Standing so close to his heart’s desire, he could discern that the scent of Renly’s favorite lime and bergamot soap had not been completely obliterated by the odor of perspiration, horse, hot metal and the faintest hint of blood.

“Wildly fortunate would be more accurate,” Renly said, laughing with unself-conscious modesty. But still a smile of triumph effused his face in the soft lamplight. He did not try to step back or look away from Loras’s intense gaze as he often did.

“Let me see the damage. I can smell blood.” Loras’s voice had grown husky with arousal. His deft fingers turned suddenly clumsy on the straps and buckles of Renly’s armor.

Renly caught the change in tone and colored appealingly. He whispered in response, “You just want to see me naked.”

“Aye,” said Loras. “You’ve uncovered my oh-so-clever ploy.” He struggled to keep his voice level. The heat of the fray and the thrill of an unexpected win had finally undone Renly’s cool control. Loras did not want anything about his behavior to spook him. He had waited far too long for this chance. “Where are you bleeding?”

“It’s nothing. A little scratch right here,” Renly said, pointing to a spot on his groin perilously close to his cock. Renly chuckled; amused at the reaction he got from Loras, who squeaked like a little girl, his flirtatious smirk vanishing instantaneously. “I’m teasing you,” Renly said, still whispering, reaching up to cup Loras’s cheek in his hand. “If you smell any blood on me it belongs to Balon Swan.”

“Ewww,” Loras said, pretending to draw away in disgust. Actually he felt himself leaning immediately back into Renly with his lips involuntarily parting, willing Renly to finally, please, please kiss him.

Renly bent forward not touching Loras save with his lips. Leave it to Renly to turn the tables on him like that, changing the rules of their game just as Loras had decided to force his hand. That first kiss was everything Loras had dreamed it would be. It began velvety soft but firm, gentle but filled with the promise of more. When Renly opened his mouth over Loras’s, he could not hold back a sob. They could not even properly embrace with Renly still clad in half of his armor. Instead of pulling back to finish removing Renly’s loosened breast plate; Loras could not force himself to interrupt the kiss. During all those years of waiting and hoping for Renly, Loras had kissed other boys and enjoyed it, but none of those kisses had been anything like this one.

“Not here,” Renly gasped, his cheeks flushed, his lips wet and glistening in the flicker of the small lamp hanging from the support beam. “Help me get out of the rest of this. Then we can go back to the Keep.”

“Now?” Loras could not believe this was finally going to happen. “Leave the tourney?”

“Do you really want to stay?” Renly laughed. “All of the interesting competitors have finished."

"No more teasing, Renly! I cannot endure it anymore.”

* * * * 

**Part III**

> “They are all so young,” he said. -- _A Clash of Kings: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two_

Renly looked stunning in the crown they had designed. Margaery made a lovely storybook princess who had been turned into a queen. Loras feared their world had the solidity of smoke, but for the moment, a moment he wished he could preserve forever like an insect caught in a ball of amber, life was good, more than good. It was incredible.

He removed the message from the raven’s leg and read it, before handing it to Renly. Lady Stark intended to ride into their precious world, about as welcome as a ghost of the plague at a children’s birthday celebration. They had until tomorrow at least according to their spies. Just as well to meet with her and get it over with sooner rather than later. They had heard she was a wise and intelligent woman and they needed to try at least to win over Winterfell and the Stark bannermen to the cause of Renly’s claim to the Iron Throne.

Robb Stark could call himself King in the North and whatever other fanciful titles he sought to invent for himself. They could afford to indulge Stark pride. Rallying House Stark to their side would break the back of Stannis’s machinations. The Starks were welcome to the defense and control of the North. Perhaps, if Renly's supporters did not have to worry about a threat from the North, within a fortnight they would have taken the Red Keep and Renly could begin to build the kind of kingdom that the people of Westeros deserved.

* * * * 

**Part IV**

> “. . . they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming.” -- _A Clash of Kings: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two_

That last night they spent together Loras and Renly had exhausted Margaery with dancing and wine. They escorted her to the King’s bedchamber and sent all the retainers away. Removing her dancing slippers and her heavy baldachin gown, they tucked her into the bed wearing only her lightweight cotton petticoat.

“Go on. Good night,” Margaery said, slurring her words, her eyes closing as she shooed them away with one hand. ”I love you both so much. But I know what you really want. And I need to sleep now,” Loras tucked her arm under the covers, pulling them up to her chin.

“Sleep well, pretty girl,” Renly said. Turning to Loras he asked, “Your room, then?”

Margaery squirmed, burrowing down deeper into the pillows. Without opening her eyes she mumbled, “Renly? Loras? Give me a kiss before you leave.” Renly made a point to reach Margaery first, a dutiful husband. The kiss he gave her, on the mouth, was a lover’s kiss, if a quick one, open mouthed with just a little tongue. “Mmm,” she moaned, smiling, without rousing from the pull of sleep fast claiming her. “So sweet. Sweet Renly.”

Loras bent down, kissing her quickly on the cheek, a brother’s pure kiss. “Rest now. You know where to find us, if you should need us.”

“Or want us,” Renly added, with a gentle, apologetic smile that could be heard in his tone.

* * * *

The young queen doubtless dreamed of her beloved brother the Knight of Flowers and his handsome paramour, who, as her husband, had promised to initiate her into the mysteries of physical love when the time was right. Loras himself could not be fussed to feel jealous of his little sister. If he wanted to see Renly as King, then he must expect the price of that crown would include that Renly must take a wife. Who could be better than an innocent whose heart he claimed as his own in a different but no less true manner?

Meanwhile, nothing had changed between Renly and Loras, except that every choice they now made was done so at greater potential cost. It was a strain to maintain discretion when no one around them any longer dared to so much as raise an eyebrow at any show of intimacy between the two of them.

The wisdom of Renly tucking Margaery into bed each night and not leaving until she slumbered was not an arduous task. Both of the men took a great deal of comfort in watching her eyelids drift shut. Knowing she slept the deep sleep of a lovely and cherished maid, serene in the confidence that she was valued, brought the young statesmen comfort. On the other hand, the fact that Renly was never alone with his new wife might at some future point lead to gossip. Meanwhile, there would be no plotting or whispering behind their backs from the Queen’s quarter at least. The effort of keeping Margaery happy, making her feel accepted and included to some degree in their heretofore exclusive circle of two, was well worth the benefits secured. There was no question that Renly relished having a lovely consort, unrivaled in birth and breeding among the Houses of the Seven, and it greatly pleased Loras to make his precious little sister a queen. There was no conflict of interest among the three of them.

Renly unfastened the clasp on Loras’s shoulder holding the ceremonial cape of the Rainbow Guard in place. “This thing is heavy, isn’t it?”

“I told you it would be. But you didn’t listen to me.”

“It suits you though.”

“You think so, do you? You’d dress me up in peacock feathers if you could.”

“Hardly, Loras, I prefer to worship you clad in nothing at all. No raiment could ever match your natural beauty.” He slipped off Loras’s creamy shirt to reveal his slim, sculpted torso. Loras was proud of his body and the effect it had on his lover. Renly ran a finger over a golden brown nipple that contrasted with Loras's pale chest, rapidly pinkening with arousal. “I love how your entire body flushes when you get hard.”

“Fuck!” Loras whispered, canting his hips forward against Renly’s.

“Fuck you? I can’t think of anything I would rather do!”

It was not long before they were both naked with Loras’s hands above his head bracing himself to keep his skull from crashing into the ornate bed frame as Renly pounded into him. There was no room in Loras’s threatened head that night for any thoughts of politics. His world had narrowed to Renly’s red lips, clever hands, and beautiful cock disappearing into Loras's body again and again. Loras never tired of the sight, no matter how much it hurt his neck to try to watch. Later, damp and sticky, limbs like lead, Loras pulled a heavy comforter over them before they started to chill and thought of obtaining a mirror to hang on the wall across from his bed, a high broad mirror with a gilded frame.

* * * * 

**Epilogue**  


> “If we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it’s always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.” -- _A Clash of Kings: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Two_

“What will happen if we win?” Renly said, snuggling closer to Loras, in the faint grey light of morning.

“When we win, you mean. We will live happily ever after. You’ll have me. And I will take care of pleasing you.” Loras grinned at him and licked him on the nose. Renly shuddered and wiped the spit off as though he minded. “Margaery will give you an heir or two. Perhaps we will need to live in King’s Landing most of the time, but you can spend a season here on these bleak cliffs now and again if you like and we will always be welcome at Highgarden. Does that answer your question?”

“Margaery’s still a girl with the girlish dreams of brave knights and courtly love. She enjoys being addressed as a queen. She is very good at looking and acting like one. But someday she will grow up and perhaps want more. She is beautiful and intelligent. Men will respond to her. If she fell in love. . . .”

“She’ll relish the challenge of acting as your consort,” Loras interrupted with a snap. “She’ll make a good mother too. The Tyrells are good at raising children.” He sounded harsher than he had intended. Of course, Margaery would be fine. There were far worse fates for a woman in their world. “She loves us and appears to be enjoying herself immensely.”

Renly stroked his cheek to soothe him. “No. I mean, what if she really fell in love? The way you and I love one another.”

“Well, then she is lucky she married you and not someone else. Isn’t she? You’d be predisposed to kindly look the other way if they would simply take care to maintain the minimum outward appearances of propriety.”

“Poor little dear. That’s hardly good fortune for her. Even an arranged marriage might have resulted in her husband learning to love her the way a woman wants to be loved.” Renly furrowed his brow and stuck out his lower lip. Loras wanted to bite it, but he controlled the impulse.

“But usually people don’t find that. Do they? Love might be the province of the peasants laboring in the fields of House Tyrell. Probably why we produce so many minstrels and love songs. That kind of love is hardly the expectation in marriages among the noble houses, is it?”

“But we found love,” Renly insisted.

“We took it for ourselves. Another man in your situation might have married someone at Robert’s suggestion, made upon an agreement brokered by Cersei in exchange for Lannister gold. That is how it is usually done. But you didn’t permit that, my brave, shrewd Renly. We pledged ourselves to one another and we found a way to do what was needed. Now all we have to do is secure the Iron Throne for you. You will be the best king the Seven Kingdoms ever had.”


End file.
